2003-10-10

2003-10-10 - 2:02 p.m.

My part of California�s been buffeted by winds the past two days. Between the trees dumping off leaves and the dust, my allergies are out of control. I�m trying very hard not to medicate, because the drugs make me sooo stupid. Allergy meds suck. You either 1) take them, because you�re tired of spending every afternoon mouth-breathing like a 15 year-old boy at a mud wrestling match, or you 2) don�t take them, and end up trying to tear off your stupid nose because there�s a spot inside that itches so much you�ve named it Muchitchistan (say it out loud, come on, Much-itch-i-stan�good job!). What options we have!

I blame J for my allergies. Swear to god, I never had them a day before he moved in. I�d never had mold in the bathroom, either � and within weeks our shower ceiling was covered with these pinkish growths. Come to think of it, I also lay a couple of other things at his feet. And for once, I�m going to come right out and say them here. Hold on tight.

The reason that I cannot, will not, get into a relationship right now is because that fucker stripped every bit of self confidence that I had. How? By letting me spend two years on my knees trying to cure him of impotence. Would he talk about it? No. Would he go to a doctor? No. Did he have this problem when we started seeing each other? No. Did he have the problem when he was cheating on me? NO.

That son of a bitch convinced me to do things that Jenna Jameson would find obscene. And I never complained once. Women, you think you give long blowjobs? No, no, my sisters. I�ve been clocked at 60 minutes. Can you say numb lips? Can you say inventive? I�m not talking just stroking, just sucking, for an hour. I�m talking every technique you�ve ever read about, ever heard about. Plus there were other, non-penis related acts. I based all my activities on the idea that men are visual creatures. There was dancing, stripping, lingerie, lack of clothing altogether. Toys. Sex outside; sex inside. Dangerous sex, plain-jane sex, exhibitionist sex. Him watching me. Me watching him. NONE of it worked. I think the last year we were together, he came maybe six times. Including twice in Paris, which was like a gift from the nookie gods.

To put all of this into perspective, before him I�d had a decent number of partners, including another long-term relationship. None of them had ever had difficulty with me. I�d never had difficulty with them. And that was another thing � I stopped orgasming, too. I was bored to tears. After an hour-long session with his winkie, he�d give me maybe five, six minutes. By then, I didn�t even care. I just wanted him to get off me and shower so that I could finish myself off with the trusty g-spot vibe.

Why did I put up with this for so long? Well, first of all, I loved him more than I knew I could love another human being. The first year, maybe year and half we were together, I felt like we�d completed the mammalian imprinting. That�s how intense the bond was. I just could not imagine life without him. As I�ve written before, when I realized he was cheating, I wanted to kill someone. Mostly myself, for being so stupid. Can you imagine the pain? He could orgasm with her, the slutty bitch who�d cheated on him in their relationship, who treated him like shit at work every day � but not with me, the one he claimed to love, who fucking did Kegels for an hour each day in the office?

No, you can�t imagine it, until you�ve been hurt that badly. I loved him so much that the idea of him fucking her made me physically ill.

I haven�t written about this part before because I�ve wanted to respect J�s privacy. We tried counseling once he�d stopped seeing her, because he wanted me back. I spent four or five months being numb. And one day, right before a counseling session, I went to J�s apartment and told him to never, ever call me again. It was over.

All of the energy I used to spend trying to make J happy has, instead, been spent cleaning up my life. I�m almost 60 pounds lighter. I�ve negotiated a new set of professional options. I�ve cemented friendships. I�ve taken risks � like encouraging an Internet friend to fly halfway across the country and meet in person. I�m dating two men � both of whom claim I give the best head of their lives. (Ironic, isn�t it?) I�m flirting with more. I�m paying my bills, living my life, loving who I want to love.

I�d like to say that none of the self-doubt J engendered in me remains. But last weekend, with Geologist, it came flooding back. We had sex once that night, twice the next morning. And damn it, he didn�t orgasm. Best blowjobs of his life, he says, but no spill. I was willing to deal with it the first night. It was late, we were tired, we were new to each other. The second time�he had me pretty distracted. But that third time�no. There was no reason for him to hold back. Sure, there are men who need a specific set of sensations to finish. But sheesh, you�re 30. It�s not like you�ve never had sex before. If you need something in particular to cum, �fess up! Say something! Don�t make me guess!

Here is the equation to sum up Geologist:
Geeky + well-educated + good conversation = Yes
Inexperienced + recovering from ex + goofy = No
Sweet tempered + Portishead fan + gorgeous legs = Yes
Doesn�t read + doesn�t care about food + doesn�t pay attention to the world = No, no
Cycles + has enthusiasm for his job + good kisser = Yes
Doesn�t orgasm despite all my efforts = No, No, NO.

Maybe if I were five years younger, he�d be a project to work on. Maybe if I hadn�t deal with J. But I don�t want another project. I want someone who can tell me the truth. I�m giving him a gentle signoff tomorrow at lunch.

So you guys tell me: am I a bitch?

Comments: Speak your piece!

former / latter